A moment to one's self. Whether you are a wife, a mother or a lover. A moment to one's self and a place to just to be.

We had our first child at a good age I thought. But we certainly were not ready for the commitment. We were in our early twenties when all of our friends and peers were still enjoying maneuvering the dating scene.

Way before social media and dating apps.​It was a truly challenging time for us for very different reasons.

​For me being a mother to a baby girl was as overwhelming as the thought of jumping off a plane. I felt I was constantly falling but never hitting the ground. Every moment I thought of the responsibility of raising another human being, let alone a girl, I ached for a closet to hide in. I often dreamt of running away. There were times I certainly understood why mothers would just leave their children. Awful, yes. But I understood it.

But I chose to have a child, and then another. I chose to live this life.

In the beginning of motherhood, the only thing I knew for sure was to just do my best, however I knew how.

There were impossible and even painful challenges. But there were many more wonderful and proud moments. Most times, I kept the struggles I felt of raising young children, to myself. Never sure if my choices would make my daughter and son better and stronger people than I ever was.

All I knew was to be there for them no matter what. To just show up. To make sure they know I am there for them.

So throughout the years, with my fingers crossed, I stayed.

But I'm learning that even that is not enough. Giving up your own space, sacrificing your time, struggling to make the right choices for them, do not guarantee your children would grow up as young adults you hoped they would be. And I accept that, because I know they are a part of me. But they are not me.

I stand in a room of my own. And I am grateful my children do, too.

Lenn Almadin-Thornhill has managed to balance an impressive journalism career with the demands of motherhood. Her biggest challenge to date is maintaining her sanity with two teenagers in the house. She is, in fact, the best thing since sliced bread.

I don’t make new year’s resolutions. I used to, back when I was young and optimistic, but somewhere along the way, it became a bit depressing to make promises to myself that I knew I wasn’t going to keep, particularly when I ended up making the same resolution year after year.

So, I obviously had no plans to make any resolutions this year. Then I stumbled across this quote, posted by a friend on Facebook: “A dream written down with a date becomes a goal. A goal broken down into steps becomes a plan. A plan backed by action makes your dreams reality.” - Greg S. Reid

I immediately realised that I’d been doing resolutions all wrong. They’re not promises. They’re not wishes you make on the first star you see on New Year’s Eve. They’replansyou make and it doesn’t particularly matter when you make them. What matters is that you commit to them in a meaningful way, with steps and deadlines to which you hold yourself accountable.

With that in mind, I’m going to give New Year’s resolutions one more try. Here are three things I’ll be aiming for in 2016:

1. Taking care of myself FIRST.It’s not that I haven’t long known the importance of self-care, or that I want to martyr myself for motherhood. It’s that, in the day to day rush to keep everything together, somehow, I always end up on the bottom of my priority list. And yes, I pretty much accepted that this might be necessary, at least until my daughter gets a little bigger. Until, that is, I happened to watch this video featuring Jada Pinkett-Smith, her daughter Willow and her mother Adrienne Banfield-Jones. If you have 6 minutes, 22 seconds to spare, it’s REALLY worth a watch:

Jada Pinkett-Smith with some powerful words about motherhood and self-care. You don't want to miss this!

As the saying goes: “You cannot serve from an empty vessel”. Instead of looking at it as being selfish, I’ve decided to look at it as giving to myself so that I can give to the people I love. My first step in that direction was to start working out on a regular basis and I can’t tell you how much better I feel physically and emotionally since I began.

2. Commit to my business in a meaningful way.I changed career paths a few years ago in order to create a lifestyle that would accommodate a child and then again a couple of years ago in order to spend more time with my daughter. However, before I slowed things down, I was doing pretty well in a fast-paced field and could see myself climbing the proverbial corporate ladder. In fact, the connections I made during that time are what have allowed me to pick and choose the projects I work on now.

Unfortunately, in my somewhat single-minded focus on nurturing my daughter, I’ve let things slide a bit on the business end. I don’t regret the choice, as my now two-year-old is healthy, happy and learning non-stop. Still, now that she’s a bit bigger, I’m ready to step back into my career a bit. I still want to be there to help her learn the rest of her colours, but this year, I’ll be taking on more challenging projects that will continue to build my skills.

It doesn't -seem- this fun... [Image: catholicap.com]

3. Potty-Train the Boss LadyDon’t laugh, I’m serious! My daughter has been showing signs of readiness since she was at least a year and a half old, but I’ve been dragging my feet because damned if potty-training isn’t intimidating! ABCs and 123s are one thing, but the stress that comes with learning bladder control is a whole other mess (pardon the pun). The thing is, as she does know her ABCs and is capable of counting to 20, it might just be time to start looking into preschools and they won’t take her unless she’s out of pampers, so I guess it’s time for me to stop being such a punk.

To that end, she now has a potty and toilet seat of her own and I’ve been regularly encouraging her to use them. She does, too, which would indicate that she’s just been waiting for her mom to get it together.

Those are the goals I’m aiming for in 2016. Since I’ve already started working on them all in one way or another, I think I might actually be in a position to tell you about a whole new list when it’s time to step into 2017.

Do you make New Year’s resolutions? Tell us what yours are in the comments below!

Calisa is the exhausted mother of an energetic, (generally) good-natured and ridiculously sharp toddler whose sole mission in life is obviously to keep mommy on her toes. She spends much of her time reading board books, changing diapers and saying “Ah-ah-ah! Mommy said ‘NO’!” while counting down the hours to bedtime.

I try not to judge the parenting choices of others. Truly, I do. As far as I’m concerned, with the exception of the lunatics, most parents want to do right by their kids.

​

As long as no one’s getting hurt (physically, emotionally, or otherwise), disagreement with someone’s parenting choices generally shouldn’t be grounds for condemnation. We’re all doing our best and parenting is hard enough without dealing with the judgment of someone who hasn’t walked in your shoes.

​That said, allowing your children to play with explosives is insanity. Plain and simple. With or without supervision.

​I recognise that some parents will feel offended by that statement, given the bafflingly large part fireworks and exploding bamboo seem to play in some of Trinidad and Tobago's major holidays, but I can’t imagine there’s a logical explanation for why a minor should be allowed to play with pyrotechnics, particularly when the act itself is illegal.​That’s right.

Although many Trinbagonians seem oblivious (or indifferent) to the fact, it is, in fact,illegalto ignite explosives within or around any borough, town or street without advance written permission. If the police were inclined to enforce the law as it stands (if only), all the people who were setting off fireworks and bursting bamboo two days before Divali and six days afterwards (in my neighbourhood, at least) would be facing fines of up to $1000.

Did we really need the police to tell us how inconsiderate it is to terrorise our neighbours and their pets with explosives? Do we need them to tell us that our children shouldn’t be involved in such a dangerous exercise? Judging from the barrage of explosions going off every Independence, Divali and New Year’s Eve, it seems we do.

Do you rememberthis story? The one about a 2-year-old child who had his fingers blown off by a firecracker just this past Divali? Judging from this, it would appear that at least some parents require parental supervision themselves:

TODDLER INJURED AFTER FIRECRACKER EXPLODES: A two year old boy is warded at the San Fernando General Hospital nursing injuries after a firecracker exploded in his hand. According to reports, around 7:30pm Yesterday, little Joshua Rufus was playing in the porch of his home at Debe Trace, Debe when his parents heard him screaming. Rufus said: "All of us were outside. I was outside, my wife went into the kitchen. It had the children and thing right there. I don't know how he get it and how it went off. All we heard was a loud explosion. When we rushed to see, my son was standing up there and what happened." Read More: http://ow.ly/UAydh

Let me be clear, here: I don’t think the adults gave little Joshua a firecracker to play with. I certainly don’t think they intended this to happen and, unlike some of the less sympathetic social media commenters, I don’t think they should be jailed for it (I imagine seeing the damage would be punishment enough for any loving parent).

I do, however, think they were ridiculously negligent, as it’s really advisable to know where your kids are when you’re setting off illegal explosives in your yard. I imagine there are more than a few other parents engaging in similar negligence over our more pyrotechnic holidays who simply happen to have better luck.

Here’s hoping little Joshua is making the best recovery possible and has no ill-effects from his unfortunate (and entirely preventable) accident. While we’re hoping, let’s throw in some hope that the citizens of this country exercise a little more consideration and common sense tonight.But don’t hold your breath.

What do you think of the use of fireworks in general and do you think children should be allowed to use them? Tell us in the comments!

Calisa is the exhausted mother of an energetic, (generally) good-natured and ridiculously sharp toddler whose sole mission in life is obviously to keep mommy on her toes. She spends much of her time reading board books, changing diapers and saying “Ah-ah-ah! Mommy said ‘NO’!” while counting down the hours to bedtime.

I’m the father of a beautiful and mischievous almost-two-year-old named Kassidy. She has changed my life in ways I never imagined, but it wasn’t the endless sleepless nights and sometimes terrifying diaper changes that surprised me the most about fatherhood.

In fact, it isn’t the tangible things at all, but more the intangible ones that still knock me for a loop on a daily basis.

Things like:

Love: Before Kassidy, I thought the epitome of emotional bliss was romantic love. You know, where you meet someone, you have that first kiss and you get those butterflies. Then she came along and I realised that the love and worry you feel for this little person just trumped that. Completely. Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife with all my heart, but this… this is something different.

Childbirth: Speaking of my wife, Donika, I have never been more proud of her than I was the day she gave birth to our daughter. She was a champ for the entire day and the experience of being there with her throughout the process was wonderful. That said… I have never felt more helpless than I did on that day. There she was, birthing our daughter and all I could do was rub her back and hold her hand. It was definitely a humbling experience.

Jealousy: When I imagined being a father, I pictured coming in the door at the end of the day and my daughter flying joyfully into my arms. What I didn’t imagine is that this wouldn’t happen automatically. It was easier for Donika, who breastfed and spends most of her time with Kassidy. I, on the other hand, would have to earn it. I also didn’t anticipate how jealous I would feel as a result. I mean, part of me understood it, but I didn’t like it. So I made it my mission to spend all of my free time with Kassidy. Instead of going to Grandma’s house when her mom’s busy, she limes with Daddy, and it’s time I really enjoy.

Children’s TV: I didn’t expect to get as familiar with Disney shows as I’ve gotten. I really get into Sophia the First, to the extent that I’m waiting for the episode where they reveal that her mom Game of Thrones’d the king’s last wife. (How else did she just up and marry a king?) I also look forward to Junior Express, even though I don’t understand a word of it... because it’s in Spanish. And Kassidy and I love doing the hotdog dance from Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Try it sometime.

Most of all, I didn’t expect how much I would love just watching her be. When she was tiny, I couldn’t wait until she started developing her distinct personality, and now it’s here. And it’s big, as is her actor’s projection (no clue where she could’ve gotten that). Sometimes I’ll just sit and watch her move around, deciding which way to go, what toy to play with and marvel. Other times, I’ll try not to laugh when she bites me or licks my cheek for no good reason (hey, it’s how we bond).

Who could have guessed that fatherhood would be this great?

Kearn Samuel is an actor, singer, television host and Baby Babble announcer who somehow finds time to also be the only person from whom his daughter Kassidy will take her night-time bottle of tea. He’s thoroughly enjoying watching her grow up while simultaneously refusing to accept that she won’t be his little baby girl forever. Because, of course, she will.

Motherhood can be a lonely job. That thought has crossed my mind semi-regularly over the past 18 months. It generally hits me in the wee hours of the morning, when my (feverish/ teething/ lonely) daughter is crying out for me for the umpteenth time and I’m reaching for the scraps of energy that will allow me to propel myself out of my warm bed once again. ​

​It’s been ringing in my head much more frequently since I heard the story of Crystal Dennis, who gave birth to her daughter at Curepe Junction at around 4am on June 2nd. Turns out it can get much lonelier.​For those of you who aren’t familiar with the geography of Trinidad, I’m just going to pause here to explain that -- although (as noted by a particularly astute friend of mine) Curepe Junction now has a flawless maternity record -- it may just be the worst place to give birth ever, what with the vermin, refuse and, you know, traffic.

​Dennis wasn’t alone when she collapsed on that pavement, unable to make it to the hospital. There were other travelers there, most of whom just watched as she screamed and writhed in pain. Luckily, a few good samaritans did eventually arrive to help her deliver the healthy baby girl (since named Cecilia) and they’ve vowed to help her. Good thing, too, because since the news first broke (in the form of a viral video) it has been revealed that she and her partner, Anthony Abraham, live in poverty. They also reportedly have three other children who live with Abraham’s mother, as they’re unable to care for them. The big question now is whether Cecilia will be able to go home with her parents or end up in the care of Social Services.

As is the nature of the internet, there are lots of opinions on this story. I usually try to stay away from the comment section for the sake of my own sanity, but in this case I did a little skimming. What I saw ran the gamut from offers of baby items and calls for psychological help to allegations of drug addition and demands that she be sterilized. I’m loathe to offer up an opinion of my own, mainly because none of us know the whole story and Social Services is already investigating in the child's interest.​

What I will say is how frustrating it is to watch stories like this unfold. Judging from the online comments, Dennis is fairly well-known in her area for being unstable. She’s in her thirties and already has three kids who live with someone who is ostensibly able to care for them. And yet. She had to give birth to her fourth child in the street before anyone really thought to get involved in a meaningful way.

The truth is, we failed her. Worse, we’re failing untold women and children just like her every day because most of us are content to pretend that, if it isn’t happening in our line of sight, it isn’t happening at all. In cases like this where we’re unable to ignore it, we pass judgment, post a comment or two and move on. Meanwhile, more children are born into poverty every day under less dramatic circumstances and their mothers have to figure out how to meet their needs with next to nothing.

That is loneliness.​What did you make of the story? Tell us in the comments!

Calisa is the exhausted mother of an energetic, (generally) good-natured and ridiculously sharp toddler whose sole mission in life is obviously to keep mommy on her toes. She spends much of her time reading board books, changing diapers and saying “Ah-ah-ah! Mommy said ‘NO’!” while counting down the hours to bedtime.

This is what fatherhood looks like in our family. What does it look like in yours?

At first glance, it might seem like Baby Babble Radio is all about mommies. After all, it is the brainchild of veteran broadcaster Samantha John. We're also blessed to have the incredible journalist, Lenn Almadin-Thornhill on our team. Then there's me, blogger, announcer and Work at Home Mommy extraordinaire.

However, if you take a closer look, it's easy to see how much love we have for daddies.Kearn Samuel brings the fatherhood perspective to Baby Babble with his show, Cold Coffee, on Thursdays from 4-7pm (TT time).

Equally as important are the daddies working hard behind the scenes to support the Baby Babble Radio ladies. Romel Best (Sammy Jo's husband) balances the demands of fatherhood while running Red Noise Studio out of their home studio. Oh, and did I mention that he's responsible for making sure we all sound our best on babybabblenetwork.com?

Meanwhile, Chivon and Lenn have teamed up to pursue their respective impressive careers while raising two accomplished teens. On my end, my partner Lee has supported the frenetic career shifts that helped me build the foundation for my current varied freelance pursuits. He's also not afraid of a dirty diaper and counts bathtime among his favorite parts of the day.

The ladies of Baby Babble Radio wouldn't be who we are without the daddies who love us and you better believe we love them right back. So we'd like to take this opportunity to wish them -- and all of you, our beloved daddy readers and listeners -- a happy Father's Day.​We're also kicking off our Show us Your Daddy drive, a little initiative aimed at showing fatherhood in all its forms and encouraging everyone to celebrate fatherhood every day. I'll go first: This is what fatherhood looks like in our family. What does it look like in yours?Post a pic of your little one and his/her daddy in the comments and you may see it in our Show Us Your Daddy Facebook album!

Calisa is the exhausted mother of an energetic, (generally) good-natured and ridiculously sharp toddler whose sole mission in life is obviously to keep mommy on her toes. She spends much of her time reading board books, changing diapers and saying “Ah-ah-ah! Mommy said ‘NO’!” while counting down the hours to bedtime.

My daughter eats at least two servings of fruit per day. Her dietary staples also include brown rice, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, lentils and red beans (neither of which come from a can). I make these things in big batches throughout the week and freeze them in easy-to-serve portion sizes.

I’m well aware that this is neither healthy nor tenable, but, as so often happens in mommyhood, I find myself expending so much time and energy making sure she’s sorted that when it’s time for me to see about myself, it seems easier to make a glass of peanut punch. (It’s just three ingredients and when else am I going to use that blender, anyway?) I believe in the benefits and necessity of Me Time enough to devote a segment to it on my radio show, but when it comes time to make it happen on a daily basis… well… it honestly starts to seem like just another chore.

Part of the problem here is lack of support. As I handle the vast majority of childcare in our family, there isn’t much wiggle room for me put myself first without putting something for the Boss Lady on the back burner. Type A personality that I am, that just won’t do. So I make promises about finally giving myself a pedicure or even just enjoying a shower that lasts more than two minutes, and then postpone indefinitely when time (or energy) runs out.

The flip-side of this situation is that a mommy who never makes time for herself soon becomes an exhausted mommy and then an overwhelmed mommy and finally a deeply unhappy mommy. Thankfully, I’m not that far gone, but I’m far enough along to see the writing on the wall.

What I worry about most is the example I’m setting for my daughter. I grew up watching my mother work herself to half to death to take care of her children and, young as I was, I could see how unhappy she was at times. While I greatly appreciate what she did for us, that’s not the example I want to set for my little one. I’ve decided that the superwoman cycle has to end here, with manageable changes that allow me to put myself on the front burner once in a while.

Maybe I ought to book a pedicure appointment with one of those kid-friendly spas?​Do you live on the back burner too? How do you make time for yourself? Tell us in the comments!

Calisa is the exhausted mother of an energetic, (generally) good-natured and ridiculously sharp toddler whose sole mission in life is obviously to keep mommy on her toes. She spends much of her time reading board books, changing diapers and saying “Ah-ah-ah! Mommy said ‘NO’!” while counting down the hours to bedtime.

Have you seen this pic?​If not, I’d like to introduce you to Professor Sydney Engelberg. He teaches an Organizational Behavior class at Jerusalem’s Hebrew University. That baby he’s holding? Not his. Nor is he a prop illustrating Social Identity Theory (whatever that is). Rather, that baby belongs to one of Engelberg’s students. He started crying during the class (as babies do) and -- as the mother was preparing to leave -- the professor took the baby, calmed him down and continued teaching the class.

Let’s just pause here for a second and let that sink in.

This is a professor who not only encourages his students to bring their babies to class, but is quite comfortable lending a hand when they get a little restless so that their mommies can stay in class and continue learning.

My first impression of this pic and the above story was: “That’s so awesome!” Literally. That’s what I posted when it popped up in my newsfeed. It has since gone viral (more than one million views on Imgur alone) so I’ve obviously seen it a few more times. While I still think it’s awesome, I’ve also started to feel kind of bothered by what its popularity implies.​People love babies… in theory. You know, when they aren’t crying, pooping or spitting up.

Hell, even Kim K isn’t immune to the judgment. Just look at those faces. (image via thedailybeast.com)

Hell, even Kim K isn't immune to the judgment. Just look at those faces. (image via thedailybeast.com)They love moms too, if the billions spent on flowers, chocolates and greeting cards a couple of weekends ago are any indication. However, it’s not often that mothers are encouraged to bring their babies into environments that aren’t explicitly child-centered. I’ve seen people giving mothers dirty looks when their kids melt down on public transportation or in stores, so the idea of being allowed to carry a child to a university lecture is pretty radical, let alone the idea of a professor who’s willing to soothe a cranky baby in the middle of it.

Isn’t that a problem, though? Shouldn’t it be a fairly normal thing? I mean, if moms are working, studying, eating out and getting pedicures just like other human beings, what’s so weird about the idea that their children might be with them? And why is it so strange that someone would decide to help a mother with her anxious baby rather than let her leave and miss out?

With mothers leaving the workforce in droves due to poor childcare options, maybe we ought to look towards Professor Engelberg as an example rather than a marvel. In the past 18 months, I’ve worked full-time, part-time and freelance. Regardless of my employment situation, or how carefully I planned everything out, one childcare hiccup could (and often did) toss everything up in the air. Add to that the fact that having a child actually damages a woman’s image in the workplace (due to the stereotype that a mother must be unreliable and distracted by said child) and you might understand why only a few of my clients even know I have a daughter.

What if we lived in a world that was kind to mothers on a daily basis? Imagine a world in which all jobs provided childcare services so that you could drop your child off as you walked into the office and work all day with the peace of mind that comes with knowing your child is being well cared for nearby. Or, what if more jobs offered flexible hours and results-based appraisals, so it wouldn’t matter so much how many hours you spent working, but whether or not you get the job done. Seems to me everyone would win in such a scenario -- from the employer, who’s getting results, to the mother, who can work secure in the knowledge that her child is safe or can flex her hours so she gets to spend more time with her little one.

Are those unreasonable suggestions? They shouldn’t be. Mothers tend to be some of the most organized, diligent and focused people a company can hire. You have to be when you’re responsible for the life of another human being, and then there’s the added incentive of needing to keep food on the table. Why wouldn’t a savvy employer invest in that?

I remain impressed by Professor Engelberg’s support for the mothers in his class, but as a mother who refuses to give up the work she loves, I demand more. I want a world where his actions are mundane because everyone does it. I don’t expect to encounter such a world by the time I leave the workforce, but I have hopes we’ll be closer by the time my daughter becomes a working mom herself.​What did you make of the pic? What are your thoughts about support for studying/working moms? Tell us in the comments!

Calisa is the exhausted mother of an energetic, (generally) good-natured and ridiculously sharp toddler whose sole mission in life is obviously to keep mommy on her toes. She spends much of her time reading board books, changing diapers and saying “Ah-ah-ah! Mommy said ‘NO’!” while counting down the hours to bedtime.

Nothing causes internet controversy like parenting choices, especially when they don’t conform to everyone’s definition of “acceptable” parenting. Obviously, it’s impossible to satisfy everyone with every choice, but anything mildly unorthodox is bound to bring down fire and brimstone, even if, deep down inside, everyone knows they’ve been there a time or two.​

Really though, it doesn’t get braver than this. (image via today.com)

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Meet mother of two Elisha Wilson Beach, a woman brave enough to not only ask her husband to snap a pic of her breastfeeding their 11-month-old daughter while perched on the toilet, but to post said pic on Instagram for the world to see.

The rather obvious backstory here is that she was enjoying a quiet moment on the porcelain throne when her daughter barged in, rummaged through the cabinet and then took a snack break. What’s a mom to do?

Well, if you ask the ever-helpful internet community, she should have either refused her hungry child or refrained from posting the “disgusting” pic where decent folks could see it. Some have even accused her of setting the breastfeeding movement back by endorsing breastfeeding in a bathroom, as if a household bathroom and a public restroom are remotely the same thing.

Cue my 360-degree eye roll.

I notoriously have zero patience for all the backbiting in which my gender loves to engage, especially where motherhood is concerned. It’s rough out there for us all (if it isn’t, you’re not doing it right), so why are we so eager to tear each other down over nonsense like this?As my own personal show of solidarity, I’m going share a few motherhood moments that would be embarrassing if I hadn’t shed my last bit of shame on the delivery table:

1. Peeing with an audienceNow, I’ve never breastfed in the bathroom, but that’s only because the timing never quite worked out that way and I weaned my daughter long before she was capable of finding her way in there on her own. In fact, if she was still breastfeeding when she became mobile, I’m positive I would have, since watching me pee is one of her favourite activities and she has absolutely zero patience when it comes to her belly. It would’ve been inevitable, really.

2. Pumping everywhere and anywhereI obviously don’t need to pump anymore, but way back when, I did it just about anywhere I could sit quietly and relatively privately for 20 minutes or so. I say “relatively” because, in addition to the dreaded workplace bathroom pump (I wasn’t blessed with a job that had the necessary facilities) I also regularly pumped in my car. It was actually much more comfortable than the bathroom (no perching awkwardly on a toilet seat cover while trying desperately not to let anything touch anything) but it was decidedly less private depending on where I parked. A homeless guy scavenging through the trash nearby once wandered up while I was in the middle of a session and, though my breasts were covered, the apparatus was bulky enough to earn a double-take. Luckily for me, he was much more interested in whatever was in the next garbage bag, but truth be told, there wasn’t much I could’ve done if he wasn’t. No way I was spilling a drop of that liquid gold over a little sneak-n-peek.

3. Pamper changes on the flyMy famously fastidious daughter has never been fond of pooping in public, so I’ve rarely had to deal with a messy pamper on the go. Rarely isn’t never though, and, on the rare occasion when it happens, there’s never a bathroom with a changing table nearby. The last time we got caught out, we were in a mall food court. One sniff told me that pulling a quick change in my lap wasn’t an option, so we made our way to the bathroom, which had no changing table (naturally) and the narrowest sink counter I’ve ever seen in my life. It was also wet. Luckily, we had a changing pad and I did what I had to do, screaming baby notwithstanding, stinking up the bathroom in the process. Sure, I got a couple of strange looks, but it’s not as if I had time to study them when I was dealing with a squirming baby with an impressively messy pamper trying to throw herself off a wet counter.

There you have it. Three parenting adventures that would’ve been embarrassing if I had time to feel embarrassed over what comes naturally. Do you have any shameless parenting stories to share? Post them in the comments!

It is truly amazing how your priorities change when you become a parent. Things that used to seem so important ­- like fashion, a social life and regular showers -­ suddenly end up on the backburner, while things that had never before crossed your mind ­- like developmental milestones, age ­appropriate entertainment and poop consistency ­- become points of pride.

While all three of those things have obsessed me at one point or another, my proudest accomplishment was the fact that she had somehow survived her first year without catching a cold. I didn’t take full credit for it and I didn’t spend a lot of time dwelling on her health; I just used it to shore up those moments when I was absolutely sure I was doing this parenting thing wrong. Sudden unexplained constipation? Probably my fault, but hey at least she’s never had a cold.

I held onto that little tidbit right up until she started daycare and came home with her very first cold... on the second day. I was dismayed but not surprised, though Day Two was a little earlier than I’d bargained for. Still, I figured I could handle it. Research in hand, I was already stocked up on baby chest rub, baby acetaminophen and saline drops. I had my electronic thermometer (one of the most useful baby­shower gifts ever) ready for when her temperature inevitably spiked. I was prepared.

Or, I thought I was. Battling her first­-ever cold turned out to be nothing like the countless blog posts indicated it would be. I’d never seen a nose this runny. Neither, of course, had she, which is why she rubbed the snot all over her face. This naturally led to an eye infection, which had to be examined by her doctor, who prescribed antibiotic eye drops.​You can imagine how much fun it was to force eye­drops into her eyes three or four times a day, in addition to the saline drops which had to be forced into her nostrils to deal with the congestion. Then there was the acetaminophen, which controlled her fever right up until the hour before her next scheduled dose. This meant lukewarm baths at all hours that turned my formerly bath-­loving kiddo into one who started whimpering every time I filled her tub.

By the end of the second week, I was so grateful to be done with the eye infection and fever that I didn’t mind the runny nose and new phlemy cough so much. I figured we were on the downslope of the ordeal. I can’t help but chuckle at that thought now.One fateful Friday, her fever jumped up to about 102 and chose to stay awhile. By the end of the weekend, she was sluggish in a way she hadn’t been since the cold first made its appearance a whole month(!!) prior and was so congested that she was refusing to eat or drink anything except yogurt and milk (hello, phlegm!).

It turned out she had the flu and a side of sore throat. We ended up right back in medication land with antibiotics and a mucolytic added to the mix.

Less than a week later, she’s almost all better. No cough, no runny nose, no congestion and no fever. We’ve still got a few days left on her medication, but the poor kid is so used to it by now that she sometimes fusses for more after I give her a dose.​I’ve also learned a valuable lesson about taking anything for granted where the kiddo is concerned. Interminable as it seemed to me at the time, this was just a minor blip for a child who has thus far been blessed with good health. Still, it was extremely difficult to watch her gasp for air while eating or sleeping and to feel her little body radiating a scary amount of heat. More than once over the past month, while fighting to give her eye drops or saline drops I thought about parents who have to endure much worse in the name of their children’s health. I still take my little parenting triumphs where I can but I keep in mind how quickly things can turn and I’m grateful for the big dose of perspective that came with our little ordeal.

]]>Fri, 10 Apr 2015 01:30:48 GMThttp://www.babybabblenetwork.com/new-parents/october-17th-2015Did… did she not make lemonade with them?

Confession time: I have never seen a single episode of Scandal. I have also never seen The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones or How To Get Away With Murder. ​Confession within a confession: I had to Google that last one because I couldn’t remember the correct name.

I know, I know, I should be thoroughly ashamed of myself.​I am, believe me. I’m not one of those hipper-than-thou, refuse-to-rot-my-brain-with-TV people. My ridiculous DVD collection would testify to that. It’s just that I fell off the pop culture treadmill about 15 months ago and haven’t been able to catch up since. I wasn't kidding about the monomania that usurped my life after Boss Lady's arrival. I have however been semi-lurking behind the scenes via Facebook.

For example, I know what HTGAWM means (though I totally spaced on it about 15 minutes ago) and that someone on that show took off her wig. I know Olivia Pope is (was?) sleeping with the President and that there are dragons (figurative? literal?) in GOT and zombies in TWD. Sad, huh?

It’s not like I don’t want to catch up. I got cable, but by then all the seasons had already started - and I HATE to start a show in the middle - so I decided that I would wait until the first seasons were over to catch up. Scandal is now in its fourth season (right?) so that clearly didn’t work out. I didn’t even see the Black Mirror Christmas special until this month. (It was still great, though.)

I’ve been meaning to stream them all so I can catch up and join the fevered discussion threads that start popping up as soon as the new airdates come out, but instead, I’ve been hunting down vintage Sesame Street and SchoolHouse Rock segments for the Boss Lady. I also have this tendency to pass out as soon as I get her to bed… so here I am, out of the loop and wondering what this meme is all about:

​Did... did she not make lemonade with them?Well, no more. I’m determined to find out what all the fuss is about and I’m willing to give up some sleep (not much, mind you) to do it.

So, I’m throwing the floor open to you mommies and daddies: What should be on my Must-Watch list? What shows have you been dying to catch up on?

When we left off last, my little Boss Lady was (relatively) comfortably ensconced in a daycare run by a woman with decades of experience under her belt and I was attempting to get over the mommy guilt that comes standard with such an arrangement. I was also making a crucial mistake in service of trying not to be the stereotypical helicopter mommy: ignoring my intuition. It turns out that there was more in the mix than standard anxiety, but, as I wasn't entirely sure at the time that I was being reasonable, I was reluctant to act. Hindsight being what it is, the warning signs are pretty obvious now and I've definitely learned my lesson when it comes to choosing a childcare provider for my daughter. Generous mommy that I am, I'm going to share the benefit of my experience.

Let's call these Calisa's Daycare Do's and Don'ts:​

1. Do get references, but remember they're not everything. I've now had two different kinds of bad experiences at two daycares, both of which came with recommendations. What I've learned is that one person's (or even several people's) good experience won't guarantee your own, because your expectations won't necessarily be the same. So you're going to have to take your time to determine whether the provider is a good fit for your family, which brings me to my next point:

2. Don't rush it. I was in the unfortunate position of having just a week to find a daycare the first time. I asked all the requisite questions and everything seemed fine, but that pressure definitely put me in a tough position of having to choose fast from a very small set of options. The second time around, I had even less time to find a place for her as I was already working full-time and I couldn't afford to take more than one day off of work in my new job. This was a recipe for disaster, because although the provider was well-recommended (see #1) and I spoke to her about my expectations, my back was against the wall and I didn't give myself time to hear any alarm bells that were ringing.

3. Do know exactly what you want from a childcare provider and don't be afraid to make it clear (repeatedly, if necessary). I was new to the whole daycare thing the first time around, so while I did ask all the standard questions (thanks Google), I neglected to ask how often they check pampers. Does that mean I'm to blame for the diaper rash? Nope. But you'd better believe I added it to my list of questions the second time around. However, because I was under pressure (see #2), I wasn't as firm about my expectations (though I did explain them), which might be why the second provider decided to bathe my daughter and feed her food I didn't send in spite of clear instructions to the contrary. Of course, I reiterated my instructions when I realized what was happening (more on that next), but by that time, the precedent had already been set. I was playing catch up to figure out what was going on with my child, which is insane.

​And finally:

4. Do always (ALWAYS) follow your instincts. This mommy thing is a tough gig. You never really know anything for sure and you're constantly making educated guesses based on prior experience, which generally (thankfully) turn out to be right. I've known this for a while and I rely on it to take care of Boss Lady, so I have no clue why it took another (much wiser) mommy to point out that the only way to really know if a childcare provider is the right one for you is when you feel it in your gut. Mind you, we're not talking perfection here - as that oh so wise mommy pointed out, perfection is you at home with your child - we're just talking about a good fit. If I'd listened to my instincts, I would've pulled my daughter out one week earlier when I confronted them about her damp blankets and discovered that they'd been using them to dry her skin after the baths I specifically asked them not to give. In fact, I might've pulled her out three weeks earlier when I realised that the only answers I'd be getting to questions like "did she nap today" and "how was her day" were vague ones like "... yeah" and "... fine."​There you have it. Straight from me to you to help make your transition into daycare/babysitting/etc. a little easier. As for me, I've decided to rearrange things so I can stay home with the Boss Lady a little longer. At least until she can answer me if I ask whether someone's been bathing her and feeding her secret grapes. So, what do you think? Have I scared you off daycares for good, or do you feel more empowered to choose the right place for your kiddo, thanks to my fails? Have any childcare provider stories of your own to share? All are welcome! Post them below!

The day I left the hospital with my itty bitty brand­ new daughter strapped securely into her car seat , I marvelled at the fact that it took just two days for the doctors and nurses to determine that I ­-- a person who had never been up close and personal with a newborn before --­ was qualified to take this precious (and totally defenseless) little person home. "How could they know such a thing?" I wondered, bracing myself for a lifetime of uncertainty.​One year and a few battle scars later, I faced the terrifying prospect of determining whether someone else was qualified to look after that same precious (albeit bigger) human being.

Someone far wiser than I once said that having a child is like letting your heart walk around outside of your body. I thought I understood what that meant as I watched Boss Lady take her first bite of solid food and those first fumbling steps, but it wasn't until I had to hand her off to a stranger that the real implications hit me.

The idea that she'd be spending her days with said stranger stressed me enough to burn off a little of the residual baby weight. (bonus!) How could I possibly know on such short notice whether these people were qualified and nurturing, let alone a good fit?

Panicked by the fact that I had little choice, I went ahead, holding onto the knowledge that kids survive daycare all the time. Armed with a recommendation from a trusted relative, I registered her with a daycare run by an experienced woman who struck me as loving and warm.

Imagine my surprise when, on the second day, she came home with two firsts: a cold and a diaper rash. I'd expected the cold at some point (though I was dismayed by how soon it popped up), but the rash gave me pause. How long would she have to have been left alone for that to happen? How is that even possible when she still eats every two hours?​Just like that, the trust that made it possible to leave my screaming child in the arms of a stranger and head off to work was gone. Within two days, I'd registered her in a new (also well­-recommended) daycare.

She still bawls for every drop­off (and most pick­ups) and I still struggle with concerns about whether she'd be better off with me, but (judging from all the lectures about her menu) I know this daycare provider is on the ball.​I also know that there will be no point at which I will be entirely comfortable with her in the care of anyone but myself. So, I resign myself to the anxiety and remind myself that a good reputation after more than 20 years in the business means something. Even if she is convinced that my sweet ­potato, lentils and papaya-­eating kiddo would be better off with some stew in her life.

]]>Fri, 06 Mar 2015 02:10:15 GMThttp://www.babybabblenetwork.com/new-parents/to-spa-or-not-to-spa-with-baby-part-twoWhen we left off last week, I was still stinging a bit from the embarrassment of attempting to take my little one to a pedicure appointment and wondering whether it was as insane an endeavour as it seemed in hindsight. To settle the matter once and for all, I decided to poll a few local spas. After consulting the almighty Google, I chose five spas at random; three in the west, one in the east and one in central. I browsed their websites to see if they listed any policies relating to children and then called to follow up.

http://nebula.wsimg.com

Of the five, two sites listed policies, but they related to age limits on treatments as opposed to what ages were allowed on the premises. When I called those two and outlined my situation, one of them (located in the west) allowed young children to be present with supervision while the other (located in central) did not. Of the remaining three, two (one in the west and the other in the east) allowed children, while one (located in the west) was unsure.

My entirely unscientific conclusion is that, ideally a woman should be able to leave the kids at home and enjoy a quiet relaxing day at the spa. Realistically, a breast-feeding mother looking for a little much-needed pampering would definitely appreciate a place that gives her the option of bringing along her frequently-feeding kiddo… if she could promise said kiddo won’t cause havoc.

The Boss Lady is now 15 months old and I’m in a position to leave her behind when I head out on my next spa trip. Even so, I’m pretty sure I’ll be booking my next mani-pedi at a place that would allow her to tag along, just in case. What do you think? Would you appreciate the option of bringing along your (well-behaved) child, or do you feel that spas should be kid-free sanctuaries? Tell us in the comments!

Nothing triggers the onset of monomania faster than motherhood. In no time at all, a formerly independent and urbane young woman is transformed into a baby-­obsessed, sleep-­deprived zombie who has no clue what’s going on in the world at large but is disturbingly familiar with the colour, consistency and frequency of a small person’s bowel movements.​I say that to indicate that I am fully aware of what has happened to me over the past year, though I’ve been powerless to stop it. In my defense, I haven’t morphed into the mom who floods her friends’ newsfeeds with countless photos of her child doing mundane things. On the other hand, I have become the kind of mother who rarely goes anywhere that babies aren’t welcome: No clubs, no bars and just one all-too-short trip to the movies without the Boss Lady (as she’s known in certain circles).

http://myhotellangkawi.com

It should, therefore, come as no surprise that my first question upon receiving a gift certificate for a spa pedicure from a friend was: “Can I bring the baby?” The aforementioned Boss Lady was about six months old at that point; immobile and pliable enough to be happy in her car seat with a pacifier and a board book for long periods of time. In other words, no trouble at all, once her belly was full and her diaper was clean. Assured by my generous friend that it wouldn’t be a problem, I packed up the kiddo and headed off to my first pampering appointment in an embarrassingly long time.

I suppose the funny look from the receptionist should’ve clued me in, but it wasn’t until we were seated in the “Tranquillity Room” and the manager appeared at my shoulder that I realised I might have made an error in judgment. Apparently, this particular spa has a no ­children policy in deference to the relaxation of their clients.

To be fair, it’s not unreasonable for a spa to want to give their clients an oasis of peace. It’s not like children are known for inspiring relaxing feelings. On the other hand, this policy is posted nowhere on their website or premises. It also pretty much guarantees that mommies without easy access to childcare (as I was at the time) won’t get that little bit of pampering that could very well save their sanity in that first year of parenting madness.

At any rate, the policy wasn’t written in stone, as the manager graciously offered to let us stay if I could guarantee the Boss Lady’s silence. Unwilling to gag her and already embarrassed enough at being treated as though I’d brought a puppy into a 5-­star restaurant, I declined. I did eventually organise a sitter so I could use the gift certificate before it expired and I had a wonderfully relaxing (and entirely baby­free) pedicure.

Since then, I’ve wondered whether it should’ve been obvious that a spa is a baby-free zone. On the one hand, why would anyone (other than a sleep-deprived zombie) bring a baby into a spa? On the other, why shouldn’t someone be able to bring their child so long as they don’t disrupt the business at hand? To settle the question, I decided to do a little unscientific research to find out whether it’s possible to spa with a baby in Trinidad and Tobago.​Check back next week for the results and, in the meantime, let us know in the comments if you would bring along your baby to a pedicure appointment.